He had hoped to settle things between them once and for all in the stone garden, but all he’d done was make an arse of himself and incite her anger. Well deserved, as he still couldn’t believe he had actually referred to her as his cousin. An attempt, however poor, at tricking his mind into thinking of her as family. But the decadent things he wanted to do with Evie, to dotoEvie, made her as far from family as she could possibly get.
What the devil would it take to purge himself of her?
Ignoring her hadn’t worked.
Kissing her had only made everything worse.
He wouldn’t disgrace her by making her his mistress…and marriage was out of the question unless he wanted to feel like this for the rest of his life, which he decidedly didnot.
He could pay her to go away, as he’d intended to do originally. But that would only place her out of sight…not out of mind. A way to treat the symptoms while the virus ran rampant beneath the surface.
No, what he needed was a real solution.
Apermanentsolution.
As he drank his port and took a slow, measured glance around the table at all of the lords and ladies feasting upon his food and wine, the answer occurred to him.
Just like that.
Hecouldn’t marry Evie.
But someone else could.
“By God, that’s it,” he murmured.
“What is it?” Brynne asked.
“Nothing,” he said even as the wheels began churning in his head.
The only way to make himself stop obsessing over Evie day and night was to make her inaccessible to him. He wanted her now because there was nothing to keep him from having her. But if she was another man’s wife…if she was another man’s wife then he would be forced to stop this ill-fated pursuit.
It was a perfect idea. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it sooner. And the house party was the perfect venue. Why, there are least three eligible bachelors sitting at the table right now. All he needed to do was make a few discreet inquiries, settle Evie with a modest dowry (not too much for fear of attracting fortune-hunters, but enough that she’d draw the attention of a nobleman of means), and choose the best of the lot.
Not Lord Markham. The viscount was in possession of both wealth and a title, but a worse scoundrel Weston had never met.
Lord Hendrickson was also out of the running, as his debts were as inflated as his ego.
That left Mr. Greer, who was a good candidate…but most of his investments were tied up with the railway and if that failed, how was he to adequately support a wife and children?
Weston drummed his fingers along the stem of his glass. More guests would be joining them on the morrow, and he was sure that one among them would be suitable. He needed a pleasant fellow. No disorderly rogues or rakes, but a gentleman who minded both his manners and his affairs. Certainly, he’d need to be patient. A tad boring. The male equivalent of Lady Martha, when it came right down to it. Surely that wouldn’t betoohard to find.
As the cloud above him dissolved, Weston finished off his port and raised his glass to indicate he’d like another…to celebrate the end of all his American problems.
Evie could notsleep.
She had tried.
For what felt like hours, she’d tossed and turned and then turned and tossed. But while her limbs were heavy, her mind was not. It was racing, in all directions, no matter how hard she tried to curb its frantic flight.
Just shy of midnight, she gave up and tiptoed from her room so as not to wake Posy. Full from a bottle, the lamb was sleeping peacefully in a basket beside the bed.
Slipping into a pair of flat, soft-soled shoes and drawing on a long wrapper with blue bows stitched down the front, she tied it closed at the waist and padded silently into the hall. From there she descended the main staircase and, using a candle and memory to guide her, made her way out to a stone terrace.
Formed in the shape of a half-moon, it offered a clear view of the pond. Silver light glimmered on the glassy surface, but there was no sign of the swans. They, along with everyone else, were undoubtedly resting, their heads free of an earl with piercing gray eyes.
She hugged her arms close to her chest as she went to the edge of the terrace and leaned against the railing. From somewhere across the lawn, she could hear the chirp of crickets and the trickling water of the fountains. It made for a soothing melody, and but for the fractious nature of her thoughts, she might have been lured into slumber.
A good thing she wasn’t, perhaps, for then she would not have heard the creak of the door on its hinges followed by the drawl of a deep, unfamiliar voice.
